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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28520433">to the dreams that are answered</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfulchihuahua0602/pseuds/sinfulchihuahua0602'>sinfulchihuahua0602</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>soft jonmartin [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, literally pure fluff, you’re gonna get cavities</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:21:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,138</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28520433</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfulchihuahua0602/pseuds/sinfulchihuahua0602</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon finds Martin at the library he works at.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>soft jonmartin [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2081499</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>82</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>to the dreams that are answered</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Martin?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a tap on his shoulder, and Martin turns to see Oliver standing behind him. He’s shorter than Martin, with dark tanned skin a lot like Jon’s and a short, dark haircut. He does actually look a lot like Jon, but he’s not quite as skinny and his eyes are a clear blue instead of brown. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s a nice enough person, but Martin’s mistaken him for Jon so many times that the clear blue of his eyes unsettle him enough to override his usual indifference at anyone’s features, and the man himself has… several flaws. He’s not the best of people - not that Martin is judging, the apocalypse has only been over for a little over a year and Martin has some things he is not proud of, but he isn’t very fond of the man. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, he’s always on shift with Martin, so he has to deal with him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?” Martin asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oliver frowns, considering. “Uh- it’s- I think, Jon? Is that his name? He’s waiting for you at the front desk. Says that it’s important, but he always says that. Always interrupting your shift, too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin bites back a swear and the urge to punch the man, because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>dismisses Jon like this, and keeps his face mostly neutral. “Can you tell him I’ll be there in a few minutes?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure. Uh, Martin,” he continues as Martin turns to finish shelving the books in his hand, “you know, if he’s controlling you… there’s always those resources I told you about-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin whirls on him, almost dropping the books. Oliver pales, cutting himself off. They’ve had this conversation before, </span>
  <em>
    <span>multiple </span>
  </em>
  <span>times before, and Martin has had to restrain himself from very nearly strangling the man every time he brings it up. He won’t let it go, and one day Martin’s restraint is going to snap. Oliver has been dismissive of Jon and how he and Martin interact for all six months Martin has worked at the library, making all the wrong conclusions and refusing to believe the simple fact that they work differently because both of them have </span>
  <em>
    <span>years </span>
  </em>
  <span>of trauma that Martin has decided Oliver has no right to know about. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he </span>
  <em>
    <span>should </span>
  </em>
  <span>be able to leave it at that, but apparently </span>
  <em>
    <span>not, </span>
  </em>
  <span>because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>won’t let it go. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oliver,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Martin snaps. “I said that I’d be there in a few minutes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please </span>
  </em>
  <span>can you go tell him and not bring this up again? I’m not going to look at the resources now, or ever. I’ve told you this multiple times, and I’m really starting to wonder when you’ll believe it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oliver frowns, then shrugs and turns away. “Whatever you say, Martin.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It takes all of the five minutes Martin spends reshelving a small stack of books for him to not want to strangle Oliver, and then he closes the box, leaving the cart against the shelf, and turns to walk to the front. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon’s talking to Lydia, one of the younger hires who’s really nice, when Martin steps out from behind the bookshelf. Martin and Jon both have a betting pool on when she’ll realize the other younger hire, Nicky, is in love with Lydia the same way Lydia is with her, and another betting pool on how long it’ll take for them to confess, and who’ll confess first. They’ve had </span>
  <em>
    <span>long</span>
  </em>
  <span> conversations into the night about Jon’s inability to see the future, mainly involving Martin’s pride at being able to bet </span>
  <em>
    <span>fairly. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Right now, though, Martin can see something is wrong. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, technically, he doesn’t need to </span>
  <em>
    <span>see </span>
  </em>
  <span>it because he’s the one who gave Jon toast and only toast this morning for breakfast because he felt like he’d throw up anything else, and he’s the one who told him to stay home because he was sick. But Martin can see he looks paler than usual, leaning against the desk and with a tired look to his eyes that Martin doesn’t need to be any closer to him to imagine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon’s eyes dart to Martin as soon as he starts walking forward, and he abruptly cuts off conversation with Lydia by turning and waving. Martin notices with a slight disapproving frown that he keeps his hips leaned on the edge of the desk the entire time, not standing on his own. He must be </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>tired, then - which was why he should be </span>
  <em>
    <span>home </span>
  </em>
  <span>right now like Martin asked him to be. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon gives a quick, cursory goodbye to Lydia before she walks off and he turns to Martin, lifting up two sandwich bags. “Hi, I, uh, got us lunch…?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know I told you to stay home, Jon,” Martin starts, because that hesitant tone tells him that Jon </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’s in trouble. “You’re sick, and I don’t want you getting worse.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon glances away. “I wanted to come see you. We always have lunch together on Fridays.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin rolls his eyes. “Not when you’re sick, Jon! You’re supposed to stay home and rest! I’d much rather have you healthy by next Friday than have you sick again because you couldn’t refuse having lunch this Friday. I know it’s our tradition, but lunch together isn’t all that important when it comes to your health, Jon.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon is quiet for a moment, still looking away. Martin steps forward, reaching out to take the sandwich bags. “Come on, I’ll take my break now and walk home with you, make you tea, and then you can stay until I get back-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Martin,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jon cuts him off, looking up quickly with wide eyes. The word is quick, breathed out, edged with a broken sort of desperation, and Martin’s own eyes widen a little when he sees Jon now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon’s visibly trembling, now, eyes flicking around and his hands twitching at all the sudden noises around him. There’s a panicked look in his eyes, desperate and trapped as he stares back at Martin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Martin breathes, as it clicks suddenly into place. “Oh, Jon.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turns and starts walking to their table at the corner of the library, hidden from view by several bookshelves and in a corner lit just enough for reading. “Sit down,” he says, setting the sandwich bags on the table. “I’m going to go call in my break, and then I’ll be back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon nods as he sits in the chair, and Martin smiles a little before walking over to the front desk. It takes far too long to call in an hour long break for lunch, especially as it’s already one in the afternoon and he’s been there since eight this morning, but finally he gets it set up and walks back to their table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he instantly regrets leaving, because Jon’s leaning over the table, elbows up on the edge and arms bent so they cover his ears, staring down at the bland green of the table. Martin’s halfway to the table when something crashes in the far corner of the library, and he winces almost as much as Jon flinches in the chair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jon,” he says when he gets closer, refraining from touching him and only standing close. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon flinches a little again, swearing under his breath before looking up. “Oh- i-it’s you. Martin.” He gives a long, exhausted sigh, slumping in the chair and running a hand through his hair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s me,” Martin replies, tone worried. He didn’t know Jon was this bad, that Martin leaving had had such an effect, but he’s glad that Jon was confident enough to come to him even during work. He’s scared to think of the state Jon would have been in if he’d waited for Martin to come home in another several hours. “I have an hour break. Can I… touch you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon responds immediately, the same desperate look in his eyes and the broken edge in his voice when he looks up. “God, yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Martin-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shh, okay, Jon, come here.” Martin takes Jon’s arm first, pulling him gently up from his chair, and Jon’s hand flies up to catch his wrist, his entire body leaning into the touch. He holds Martin’s hand there like he’s drowning and it’s the only thing that can save him, fingers tight around his wrist. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, Jon, I’m not going to let go,” Martin tells him, slipping his other arm around Jon’s waist and pulling him closer. Jon goes easily, and it’s when Martin pulls him closer that he can hear the shuddering in his breathing, the way he’s leaning into Martin as much as physically possible. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin stands there quietly, letting Jon lean almost his entire body weight against him. His breathing slowly stops shuddering, becomes more smooth and relaxed, and it takes even longer for his hand to slowly uncurl from Martin’s wrist, though it doesn’t move, simply rests on his sweater sleeve. Jon leans his forehead against Martin’s shoulder the entire time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you good, love?” Martin asks softly, after what seems like an eternity. He doesn’t mind, though, not when Jon is like this, so fragile and breakable. Martin is happy to put him back together, again and again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon nods, but he doesn’t move, and the fingers on Martin’s sweater sleeve tighten again. “I don’t want you to leave,” he says quietly, a different kind of desperation in his voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin decides very suddenly that his job can go fuck itself, and nods. “Okay, I won’t leave. What do you need?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon sighs, relieved, his fingers loosening on Martin’s sleeve. “I- just… you?” he asks hesitantly. “I need you to- be here. Touching me in some way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin nods again, mostly to himself because Jon hasn’t lifted his forehead from his shoulder, but he does it anyway. “Alright, can you wait for us to get home?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon tenses. “No, no- I- no. Here. Please. It’s out of the way mostly, no one will see us-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, shh, it’s okay, Jon,” Martin cuts him off soothingly. “We don’t have to go home, here is fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon relaxes again, and Martin slowly pulls back, keeping his hand on Jon so he’s still touching him. “How much do you need?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon considers. “Not… not a lot. Just being close, and touching in some way - any way. I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>care, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Martin, just-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, Jon,” Martin replies, feeling him start to tremble again. “Okay, how about- here,” he moves to the chair, sitting down in it and looking up at Jon. Jon tilts his head, glancing down at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sit here.” Martin gestures at the floor between his legs. “I still have to do a few things, but they’re all just paperwork. I can-“ he laughs a little, “-pet your hair, I guess?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon is quiet for a moment, and then he nods slowly. “That… does sound nice, actually.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin smiles as Jon positions himself under the table, sitting cross-legged, looking up at him. Martin puts a hand in his hair and runs it through the soft brown-gray only once before Jon’s eyes flutter shut and he exhales softly, leaning his head against Martin’s thigh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘S </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> nice,” he mumbles quietly. Martin laughs a little at that, seeing Jon go practically limp from just this, and can’t help the smile that spreads across his face. It’s a special kind of thing, Martin knows, to be able to do this to Jon, and be trusted enough to do this. He knows Basira and Melanie, even, can’t get anywhere near Jon like this, let alone the rest of the Institute or any of the library. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Only Martin can, and he treasures this privilege every day, especially during moments like this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He slowly pulls out the papers from the folder he’d brought, using one hand while the other is occupied running gently through Jon’s hair, and starts filling out the forms with a pencil. Jon is quiet, the weight of his head against Martin’s leg a constant throughout the time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s an hour before Martin leans back and looks down, finding Jon with his eyes closed and cheek resting against Martin’s thigh, breathing slowly and steadily. He’s utterly still compared to the trembling from earlier, body loose and relaxed rather than tense like he had been. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin smiles, taking his hand from Jon’s hair. He doesn’t stir, and Martin pulls his hand up above the desk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Blackwood?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin turns his head quickly to see Henry, his boss, walking up, giving a slight frown at the papers in front of him. “Yes?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t you supposed to be shelving books? The cart is still by the shelves.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin adjusts his arm from where it rests on his leg to hide Jon from view, feeling him shift where he sits. No doubt he Knows who’s here, and what they want from Martin, and his fragile peace has been disturbed. Henry’s a nice man, but for the first time, Martin kind of wants to snap at him to go away, for disturbing Jon like this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was thinking perhaps Lydia could do it? I found a nice spot to do paperwork. I was going to do it after this, but I don’t think I’ll have the time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you tell Lydia of this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin pauses. “No.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Henry frowns further, then sighs and nods. “Alright. I’ll tell Lydia, and you can keep doing those forms.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin smiles and nods for as long as it takes for Henry to walk away, and then he turns to look down at Jon, whose eyes are open and alert looking at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He resists the urge to sigh. “Do you want to go home, Jon?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon glances away, considering. Something loud crashes in another aisle, and then he flinches. “Ah- fuck- no,” he says quickly, shifting. “No, I’m good here. Please keep going.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin nods, continuing running his hand through Jon’s hair, and smiles when, after the second run, Jon’s eyes flutter shut again and he leans against Martin’s leg. He watches for a few moments longer before returning to his paperwork, though he always has half a mind on Jon and how he shifts - or, </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>shift, which means Martin’s doing this right - against him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin won’t admit he spends far more time focusing on Jon than any of his paperwork, but he doesn’t regret it. Jon will always be more important than his job. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Around the library’s closing hours, when he’s settled into a pleasant headspace for the paperwork with Jon underneath the table, still relaxed and content as ever, Martin pulls himself out of his focus and leans back, looking around at the library’s slow winding-down process. He then looks down at Jon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon looks almost asleep, if Martin didn’t recognize the slight twitch in his hands, faintly illuminated by the sliver of light reaching beneath the table. He’s entirely still, as pliant as Martin’s ever seen him, eyes closed and breathing steady. Martin cherishes this ability to be peaceful, after everything they went through. He takes a small sort of pleasure in being </span>
  <em>
    <span>able </span>
  </em>
  <span>to do this, to simply relax without the weight of the literal world on either of their shoulders - though, the pleasure is anything but small, to them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He takes even more pleasure in being able to get Jon to this relaxed state, because out of the both of them, Jon is the one who had more of the weight. Sure, Martin has his nightmares and his moments of self-loathing and panic attacks, and Jon always helps him with those, but Martin knows Jon is the more broken out of the two of them. Not in any self-destructive way, but it’s simply a fact. They help each other with their respective traumas, and Martin knows that, without diminishing his own trauma, Jon has far more to deal with than him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He seriously considers </span>
  <em>
    <span>carrying </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jon out of the library, so as not to disturb him like this, but Jon wouldn’t appreciate that in the long run and it probably would disturb him anyway. As adorable as it would be. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jon,” Martin says quietly, and when he runs his hand through, he tugs lightly on Jon’s hair. “Jon, the library is closing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a soft hum, Martin tugs again, and Jon’s eyes open, slitted like a sleepy cat as he tilts his head to look up at Martin. “Yes?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The library is closing. We have to go home.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The corner of Jon’s mouth tilts down, brows furrowing. Martin almost laughs at the petulant voice of Jon echoing in his head, if he was coherent enough right now to actually talk - </span>
  <em>
    <span>Library closing time is too early - </span>
  </em>
  <span>and smiles as Jon shuts his eyes, sighs, and slowly unfolds himself from beneath the table when Martin pushes his chair back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh yes,” Martin starts teasingly as Jon glares out at the world very much like a cat woken up, “it’s such a tragedy, you have to wake up from your nice nap. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>whole world </span>
  </em>
  <span>is at fault.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon leans against Martin when he picks up his papers and starts walking to the entrance. “Wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>sleeping, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Martin,” he says, half-mumbled still. “Was drifting. Sort of. Long story.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin laughs and ruffles Jon’s hair. “I’m sure it’s a very long story, one which involves all of me petting you like a cat. And waking you up, and involving you glaring out at everything like a cat woken up too early.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon frowns, leaning slightly away from Martin. “I wasn’t sleeping,” he says, more firmly. Martin’s smile fades, sensing he’s hit a nerve, wondering what he did wrong. “I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>drifting</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because I felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe, </span>
  </em>
  <span>because </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>were there, doing what you did.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin steps closer again, and Jon doesn’t move away. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. Jon stares down at the ground. “I should’ve known- i-it’s a sacred thing, isn’t it, for you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not for you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin considers, then nods. “Yeah, I- I can see how it would be. It is. Helping you relax like that, after everything… yeah, it’s a sacred thing. It’s something we both took for granted before the whole, y’know, fourteen entities of Fear and everything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The corner of Jon’s lips quirk in a small smile, and then it fades as he keeps staring at the ground as they walk. “I want to do it again, sometime. With you, if I ever- you know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin smiles a little. “Yeah, I know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon raises his head, watching the people and the town as they walk. Martin feels his fingers brush against his, looks down, and sees Jon’s hand lace quietly with his. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin looks up and sees the corner of Jon’s lips tilt upwards just slightly, feels him lean into him a little bit more. He smiles, tightens his grip on Jon’s hand, and keeps walking - for once, into a sunset that doesn’t burn with fiery red and with a sky above them that doesn’t look back. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
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